"Can you pass me the bottle?" I asked, not looking at Jaxon as I reached for the ketchup on the table. We sat in the kitchen quietly eating, the clink of cutlery and the hum of the refrigerator the only sound filling the air between us. It was this way for quite a while: moments of equilibrium, only to be cut short by tensions that seemed to hover over everything we were doing. Co-parenting was getting easier, but. this unease was another kind of challenge altogether.
He passed the bottle in silence; his movements deliberate as if not to touch me. Every touch now felt charged, even the slightest gesture that quickened my heartbeat and swirled my mind with memories that I was not ready to relive.
"Thanks," I muttered, unscrewing the cap and squeezing out the ketchup onto my plate.
Jaxon
